Flung out of doors by the latest statistics…

Flung out of doors by the latest statistics, standing in rain and snow, fingers colored by cold, all for pleasure, he thought, “I never meant to not do it right. How did I get here, to this? How did it all come to this?” Swilling the smoke through his lips, his teeth, smoke in great raging furnaces around the soft inside flesh of his cheeks, blackening his teeth, while outside, exposed to fierce weather his nose changed color, paled to white and his lashes froze into teensy tinsy icicles, each containing one fragile hair.